


you drink light with your hands all winter

by verity



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Age Swap, M/M, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 01:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11910111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky has an unbroken streak of GPF gold medals four years long when they skate against each other in Sochi. He doesn't give Yuuri a second look as they pass each other in the lobby of the hotel, although they're close enough to touch. Trailing after Yuri, a petite skater with long silver hair stares at Yuuri with big doe eyes. He doesn't look away until Yakov Feltsman grabs him by the arm."Ah, it's your fan," Ciao Ciao says. "Victor Nikiforov. He's taking juniors by quite a storm."Yuuri says, "Ha ha." He can never tell when Ciao Ciao is joking.





	you drink light with your hands all winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dadvans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadvans/gifts).



> thanks to Ashe & nomanono for betaing. title from ["Introduction to quantum theory"](http://www.theadroitjournal.org/issue-twenty-franny-choi-the-adroit-journal/) by Franny Choi.

"Look," Yuuko says, stubbing her finger on the screen. "His name is Yuri, like you."

* * *

The Ice Tiger of Russia is inimitable. They imitate him anyway. Yuuri gets dizzy doing spins, closing his eyes, thinking about what Yuri Plisetsky must think about when he skates to Rachmaninoff. Yuuko and Yuuri spend hours pouring over figure skating magazines, staying up late at Minako's snack bar to catch competitions in Europe. Minako is the only person they know with satellite TV.

"You're such a good skater, Yuuri," she says, putting out another cup of tea out for him. "Maybe you'll compete against him someday."

Yuuri is old enough to know that's the kind of thing adults say to kids, but Minako is Minako, so he nods. Yuuko has her head pillowed on her arms next to him; she's snoring softly. On screen, Kenjiro Minami takes the ice. "I'd be afraid," Yuuri says quietly. "He's so—"

"Intense?"

Yuuri shakes his head.

* * *

When Yuri Plisetsky steps onto the ice, he transforms from a teenage boy into something otherworldly. He's a ballet dancer, like Yuuri; he can glide with impossible grace across the ice, contort his lithe frame into a Biellman spin, throw himself into his signature quad sal with impeccable control. With each move, he gives everything. 

At night, when the Ice Castle is empty except for Nishigori-san doing the books and preparing for the next day, Yuuri empties his head on the ice. There's no one to see him falter or fall, to criticize or ridicule. He gives himself up to the rhythm of his body, the crisp cut of his skates into fresh ice. In motion, he lets himself be consumed.

* * *

Yuri Plisetsky has an unbroken streak of GPF gold medals four years long when they skate against each other in Sochi. He doesn't give Yuuri a second look as they pass each other in the lobby of the hotel, although they're close enough to touch. Trailing after Yuri, a petite skater with long silver hair stares at Yuuri with big doe eyes. He doesn't look away until Yakov Feltsman grabs him by the arm. 

"Ah, it's your fan," Ciao Ciao says. "Victor Nikiforov. He's taking juniors by quite a storm."

Yuuri says, "Ha ha." He can never tell when Ciao Ciao is joking.

They're on the ice at the same time for warmups—Yuuri and Yuri, not Yuuri and Victor. Yuuri can barely breathe if he looks at Yuri, so it's fortunate that without his glasses, he can barely see Yuri as well. It's fine, it's fine. Yuri Plisetsky is a person, not just a poster on Yuuri's wall. In real life, he is just as beautiful, though smaller, somehow, and quieter. He does smile at Otabek Altin, who beat Yuuri to silver at Four Continents last year, skating close to lower his mouth to Altin's ear. 

_Concentrate_ , Yuuri can almost hear Ciao Ciao saying. _Concentrate_.

Yuuri narrowly avoids skating into a wall.

* * *

"Commemorative photo?" Yuri says to Yuuri the morning after the gala, Victor hovering eager at his elbow.

There is nothing Yuuri wants less to commemorate.

* * *

Phichit drives Yuuri to DTW in Ciao Ciao's Fiat, an experience that is sufficiently harrowing to take Yuuri's mind off both his destination and his departure. "We have to Skype once a week. That's very important."

"Of course, I'll call—" 

"No, you won't," Phichit says agreeably as he merges across three lanes of traffic. "But I'll call you."

Yuuri clutches the grab handle above the door. "Sounds good?"

They hug at curbside, even though Yuuri doesn't like hugs and gets anxious about holding up the drop-off line. "I'm going to miss you so much," Phichit says. "I'm even going to miss watching every single one of Yuri Plisetsky's interviews like, nine times, badly subtitled on YouTube."

"Are you sure about that," Yuuri says drily.

Someone behind them starts honking, so Yuuri drags his suitcase out of the back and waves goodbye. He doesn't cry until after he makes it through security.

* * *

Home doesn't really feel like home without Tora there, curled next to him on his pillow. He lights incense beside her photo at the family altar and looks at her photo, which is still and sweet and nothing like her. Yuri still has scars on his arm from her first year with them as a kitten. He rubs the mark on the outside of his forearm and tries to remember what it felt like going in, but there's nothing. 

"You home for good now?" Mari says, lighting up a cigarette. 

"I don't know," Yuuri says.

He runs all the way to the rink afterward, his skate bag thumping against his back. As late as it is, Yuuko is still there, straightening up the rental skates for the next morning. "Yuuri-kun!" she says. "You're back!"

"I have something I want to show you," he says.

Even after—everything, Yuuri can still lose himself on the ice.

* * *

There's a poster of Yuri right above Yuuri's bed. He used to jerk off to it all the time, back when he never thought skating on the same ice as Yuri was anything but a dream. His walls are papered with old magazine cut-outs, posters he sent away for, publicity photos furtively printed out on the family inkjet printer in black and white to save colored ink—but it's this one that Yuuri can imagine even with his eyes closed. Yuri is all in black, spread out on a ghastly tiger skin rug, his head butting against the tiger's, its glass eyes wide and Yuri's own half-lidded, shadowed by thick lashes. Looking at that poster used to make Yuuri feel wild. 

He has to climb up on the desk chair to take it down. After that, it's easy—Yuuri peels them off the walls one by one, thrown on top of each other like so much litter. He's too tired to take them all down to the trash, so he rolls them up into a tube and jams them under the bed. He'll deal with them tomorrow.

* * *

Tomorrow doesn't go how Yuuri expected.

Yuri's body is as sculpted as Yuuri imagined, his pale hair dark around his neck from the water. "I've come to be your coach," Yuri says, and then, after a moment: "Well?"

Having grown up at Yu-topia Katsuki before becoming an internationally competitive athlete, Yuuri has seen a great many naked people in his life. He has even been in the same locker room as Yuri, although not at the same time. Nevertheless, his response is to back up until he literally runs into the wall. 

Yuri frowns at him. "You do speak English, right?"

"I have a BA in Comparative Literature from the University of Michigan," Yuuri says on autopilot. "I graduated _magna cum laude_." 

Yuri says, monotone, "Great."

* * *

Lunch service is always slow, so Mama has time to come out of the kitchen and fuss over their newest guest. "Would you like some katsudon? It's our Yuuri's favorite."

Mari looks like she's trying not to offer a Yuri a guided tour of Yuuri's poster gallery. "I'm going to call you Yurio," she says. "Two Yuris, that's confusing."

"That's not my name," Yuri says, scowling.

"What a fine cat, Yurio," says Papa, who is feeding Potya slices of tuna. "So well-behaved."

"I'm buying sake for everyone," Minako says, swooping in. She raises her eyebrows at Yuuri behind Yuri's back and Yuuri struggles not to react.

Yuri Plisetsky is here. In Yuuri's home. To be his coach. Eating Mama's katsudon. Yuri struggles with chopsticks; he watches Yuuri's hands with enough scrutiny that Yuuri can barely eat. "This is amazing," he says, and then, transferring his scrutiny to Yuuri's mid-section, "You must eat a lot of it."

Half a hour later, Yuri is curled up on the tatami with Potya, his face buried in her fur. He's wearing one of the inn's plain jinbei and his feet are bare except for bandages and KT tape. Yuuri can't stop looking at his calloused soles, the peeling tape around his toe. Mari steps around him to start clearing the table, but Yuuri can't move.

Minako throws back Yuuri's untouched cup and looks up at Mari. "Another bottle, please?"

"Sure," Mari says, balancing the bus bin on her hip as she loads it with bowls and discarded cups.

When she steps back into the kitchen, Yuuri leans across the table and pitches his voice low. "I can't believe he came all the way out here to coach me."

Minako runs a finger around the mouth of her sake bottle until it sings.

* * *

"Is this all of your luggage?" Yuuri says, pulling Yuri's suitcase into the banquet room Mari aired out. 

"I had a couple boxes shipped, but I brought what's important." Yuri lifts the empty cat carrier in his hands. 

"I'll set up a litter box for her," Yuuri says. "My cat—I mean, we have a box."

Yuri stops in the middle of the room so abruptly that Yuuri almost runs into him. "You weren't like this before." Yuri says sharply.

"Before?"

He's not expecting Yuri to touch him, to drop the carrier to cup Yuuri's jaw in his hand. "At the banquet." They're close enough that Yuuri can feel the heat of Yuri's body. 

"What?" Yuuri says stupidly. 

"The Grand Prix banquet," Yuri says. "When you asked me to be your coach."

Yuuri's mouth goes dry. "I asked you to what?"

Outside, the sun is setting; the rosy light glinting off the snow makes Yuri look flushed. "You were pretty drunk, I guess. If you don't want—" He lets go of Yuuri and takes half a step back, fingers flexing at his side. 

No. No. Yuuri reaches out and grabs Yuri by the arm. "No, don't—I do. I do want you to—Yuri." 

"You can change your mind."

Before he can second-guess himself, Yuuri blurts out, "Be my coach. Please." 

Yuri tugs his arm free. "Okay," he says. "I'm going to sleep."

* * *

"You're running ten kilometers," Yuri says the next morning after he's finished banging on Yuuri's door. "You can't skate like that."

The first day is awful and grueling, but it helps that Yuri keeps pace with him, running a loop around Hasetsu until they end up at the beach. Yuuri flops onto the sand, trying to catch his breath; above him, Yuri yanks up his t-shirt to wipe his face, exposing a long stripe of pale belly. He plunks down next to Yuri after that and wraps his arms around his knees.

The sun is just rising over the water, the rising tide warming with the light. Seagulls call as they're roused from slumber. Yuri says, "It's beautiful here."

"You must get to see a lot of beautiful places," Yuuri says, panting.

Yuri's eyes are on the water. "Not really."

They jog back home at a slower speed; Yuuri's hamstrings are killing him. He stretches carefully on the front steps before they enter the onsen. Yuri does the same; the wide neckline of his shirt sags as his joggers dip low. Somehow these stolen glimpses are more enticing than seeing Yuri in the bath, as if they belong to Yuuri alone. He looks away before he can get caught staring.

* * *

In some ways, Yuri is exactly what Yuuri expected: he's gorgeous, obsessed with street fashion, and says everything as if it should be obvious. He is also intensely disciplined, running Yuuri so ragged that Yuuri can hardly think about anything. Yuuri's never had a coach who worked him as hard as he worked himself. 

Phichit has plenty of time to think about it, though. "I can't believe you _asked_ him to be your _coach_ ," he crows over Yuuri's headset.

"I don't either!" Yuuri covers his face with his hands. "I don't remember it!"

"Oh, you were _wasted_ ," Phichit says in an _aha_ tone of voice. 

Yuuri groans. "I'm not drinking right now."

"I mean, where are you going to pick up hockey players in Japan," Phichit says. "No point."

"Don't talk to me," Yuuri says.

Did he make a pass at Yuri? Surely, he couldn't have: Yuri is here. Even drunk, Yuuri can't imagine himself brave enough.

* * *

Three weeks into Yuri's stay at Yu-topia Katsuki, another Russian turns up on their doorstep. Yakov's protégé, the heir to the Russian figure-skating dynasty—Victor.

"I want you to be my coach, too!" Victor says to Yuri, who is distinctly unamused. "You can coach both of us!" He carefully avoids looking at Yuuri.

Yuri rakes a hand through his hair and glances at the dining room full of onsen guests, only half of whom are pretending not to be listening. "Vitya, you _have_ a coach. I only have room for one student."

"I'll air out the spare room," Mari says, sighing. "Come on, Yuuri, help me."

Once they're upstairs, sweeping out the storage room in the family quarters, Yuuri can almost relax. Mari's always moving, working, doing something with her hands—the same restlessness drives both of them. "Thanks, nee-san," he says as they drag one of the spare guest futons upstairs together. "I know it's a lot."

"No, you don't," she says. "Nice of you to pitch in for once, though."

When Yuuri goes back downstairs, Victor is chattering away about his plane ride while Yuri smiles at him. That smile—it changes Yuri's entire face, softening his sharp cheeks, warming his green eyes. Yuuri doesn't know what he'd do if he had that smile directed at him.

* * *

The triplets make it a competition. Victor wins and he'll train in Hasetsu with them; Yuuri wins and— "What do you want?" Yuri says.

Yuuri takes a deep breath. "I want to eat katsudon with you."

* * *

"I had two different arrangements of this song choreographed," Yuri says, playing _On Love_ for them. "The jumps are too challenging for either you. Prove me wrong."

Victor is the soul of _agape_ , an angelic vision on ice. He's less flexible than Yuri was at the same age, but he has the same balletic athleticism and beauty. "Your step sequence is a mess," Yuri says, scrutinizing his performance. "Don't embarrass me."

"I can't believe you were going to skate this," Victor says. "'Ardent, eternal love'?"

Yuri flips him off. "Don't like it? Fuck off to Yakov for all I care."

Yuuri has one consistent quad—a toe—but _Eros_ centers Yuri's favorite jump, the quad Salchow, which he'd been the first to land back in juniors. Yuri demonstrates it over and over for Yuuri until Yuuri lands one, wobbly and under-rotated with a two-footed landing. 

"It's your takeoff that's fucked," Yuri says after Yuuri comes to a stop. "You're not getting enough speed. Do it again."

Victor, who's been watching instead of working on his flying sit-spin, claps when Yuuri finally lands an acceptable one. "Can you help me with my step sequence?" he asks when Yuri steps out of the rink for a few minutes. "Yours are so good."

"Ah," Yuuri says. "Yes, sure. Run it through for me." He hops up on the boards and reaches for his water bottle. It's strange to be competing with Victor, who only wants their attention and approval—it feels selfish to deny him anything. Yuuri is greedy, though: he wants Yuri all to himself. He wants to win.

Victor is the last one out of the rink at the end of the night. Yuri hounds him to drink water and finish his dinner before he falls asleep on his plate.

Then it's just Yuuri and Yuri, stepping into the hot springs under the dark sky of a new moon. "How long have you and Victor been training together?" Yuuri asks.

Yuri looks like he's ready to doze off himself. "Oh, I don't know." He sighs. "Five years? Longer? He's fifteen; he's been with Yakov for a lot of that. But there are a lot of kids."

"Oh," Yuuri says. "Nishigori-san taught me. Takeshi's dad. He was my coach until I went to college."

"That sounds nice."

Yuuri drags his heels lightly against the rough floor of the pool. "You're hard on him. Victor."

"He's just going to coast on his laurels otherwise. What, did you think I was just a huge dick for no reason?" Yuri glares at Yuuri for a moment before he relaxes against the rocks again. "I guess I deserve that."

"You're not like that with me."

"It takes a lot of energy," Yuri says. Abruptly, he hoists himself out of the water. "I'm going to bed."

* * *

Victor may be the soul of _agape_ , but Yuuri is hardly the spirit of _eros_. Sure, he may be graceful on the ice, but that doesn't make him sexy. "Get it together, Katsuki," Yuri says after another hour of Yuuri struggling with his playboy alter ego while Victor struggles with the precision of his Ina Bauer. "What makes you feel good? What turns you on? What makes you lose control?"

"Uh," Yuuri says.

Yuri circles him, blades whispering through the ice. "What drives you out of your mind?"

Yuuri doesn't say, _you_ , even though Yuri has that look on his face—those lowered eyelashes that make Yuuri think of the tiger skin rug rolled with the rest of the posters beneath his bed. Yuri is all fire, all will, all _eros_. As much as he's tried, Yuuri could never hope to imitate him.

* * *

Later that night, Yuuri says, "Katsudon! My _eros_ is katsudon!"

Yuri says, "Wrong answer."

* * *

Yuuri lies on his back two nights before _Onsen on Ice_ and closes his eyes. He doesn't have to look at the poster to see it in his minds' eye—a younger Yuri than the one Yuuri knows, with shorter hair and those bedroom eyes, reveling in his own beauty and power. The Yuri down the hall lives in oversized hoodies and workout leggings and patterned scrunchies. He doesn't always seem happy, but maybe poster-Yuri wasn't either.

The light in Yuri's room is still on when Yuuri steps out into the hallway. "Come in," he says when Yuuri knocks. "What is it?"

"I—" Yuuri folds his arms across his chest. "I had a question."

Yuri sits up in bed. His hair is down, falling unevenly around his face, and Potya is curled up next to his pillow just where Tora used to sleep next to Yuuri's. "Ask it, then."

Yuuri's heartbeat thrums in his ears. "Why are you here?" 

"You know that," Yuri says. "You asked me to come here."

"But _why_ ," Yuuri says. "Why did you come? It's just me."

"Yes," Yuri says evenly.

"You could be competing, still," Yuuri says, getting really wound up now. "You could do anything you want to. You could be coaching Victor. You could—"

"Come here," Yuri says.

Gingerly, Yuuri approaches the bed. He sits down after a few seconds of Yuri's scrutiny, close enough that Potya yawns and stretches when the bed dips.

"You know why Victor is here, don't you?"

"Because he wants to work with you," Yuuri says. "Isn't he?"

Yuri rolls his eyes. "No, because he was obsessed with you _before_ you beat him in a breakdancing competition at the GPF banquet."

"…I did what?"

"I have pictures." Yuri sounds amused. "I'm certain Vitya does."

"Oh," Yuuri says faintly.

Yuri says, "You really don't remember, do you." Not really a question. He reaches over to the nightstand and unplugs his phone from the charger. After a moment of tapping on the screen, he hands it to Yuuri. "Maybe this will help you find your eros."

The pictures are—shit, Yuuri should log into Facebook to make sure no one's uploaded or tagged him in these. Yes, breakdancing happened, and more champagne, and… pole dancing with Christophe Giacometti. Then. "Oh." Yuuri's dipping Yuri back over his arm, smiling, and Yuri is smiling back. Another few photos of the same thing. Yuuri glances up from Yuri's phone, cheeks burning. "I had no idea—"

"It's fine," Yuri says, tugging his phone back. "You asked me to be your coach. So I am."

* * *

"I need you to teach me how to be seductive," Yuuri says.

Minako cracks open her door. "It's 9AM."

"I accidentally seduced Yuri Plisetsky at a banquet," Yuuri says. "I have to do it again."

"Too early," Minako says, but she lets him in.

* * *

Victor is wearing the sheer, glittering bodysuit that Yuri wore for _Méditation_ years ago; Yuuri is wearing the half-skirted costume that Yuri had made for _Piano Concerto No. 3 in D Minor_. "Good luck," Victor says as they step out of the locker room.

"Thank you," Yuuri says, his gaze drawn by the crowd. So many people. His palms are clammy.

As Victor skates—agile, yes, but not entirely graceful—Yuuri's nerves begin to calm. He's not skating tonight to have his performance taken apart by strangers, or to please a crowd. There's only one person he has to reach. Judge, jury, executioner—or something like that.

Victor gets off the ice flustered and sweaty, pushing past Yuri at the door to the rink. Yuri's expression doesn't change as he waits for Yuuri to approach him. As Yuuri pulls off his skate guards, Yuri says, low, " _Davai_ , Yura."

Yuuri grabs Yuri by the strings of his hoodie, skate guards still in hand. "Don't you dare look away."

* * *

When Katsuki Yuuri steps onto the ice, he transforms from a nervous has-been to something otherworldly. He's a ballet dancer, like his coach, but he moves like a _danseuse_ , the lift of his arms and the jut of his hips subtly feminine. He glides with impossible grace across the ice, curves his body into a flawless layback spin, and lands his quad sal cleanly if not perfectly. With each move, he gives everything.

* * *

By the time Yuuri is done with the media, Victor is already dressed, hair damp from the shower. It matches his medal. "Thanks for the opportunity to compete with you," Victor says sharply as he switches out the soft cloth guards on his skates for the plastic ones before he puts them away. "I guess I'll see you at the Grand Prix Final." 

"Same to you," Yuuri says. "You skated beautifully."

"I didn't win," Victor says, lifting his head. There are tear tracks on his cheeks. "So, it doesn't matter, but thanks." He pauses. "You keep surprising me."

* * *

It's unusual that Yuuri panics after a competition, but there's a first time for everything. He's sitting in the locker room, still dressed except for his skates, when Yuri comes in and takes in the situation. "Do you need help getting out of that?"

"Oh," Yuuri says. "I guess I do." The zipper is a long diagonal across his back; Victor fastened it earlier. He stands and turns so Yuri can undo it. 

Yuri rests his hands on Yuuri's shoulders for a moment before he starts to tug down the zipper. The teeth part easily, with only a moment's struggle at the waist. Yuri peels the bodysuit away, his big palms sliding down Yuuri's bare shoulders, and Yuuri leans into it, this passive striptease. "I knew you could do it," Yuri says quietly. "Figure out what gets you hot. What is it? Your _eros_?"

"Don't be stupid," Yuuri says. "You know it's you."

Yuri spins him around and Yuuri stares up at Yuri's beautiful face, haloed by fluorescent light. "I didn't know. But I want to be. I want to get you—"

"Not here," Yuuri says.

"No," Yuri says, but he kisses Yuuri anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
